Rangers Have Many Stories
by AlphaCommand
Summary: Fifty serving Rangers, and an indeterminate number of apprentices and retirees, each with stories to be told. A series of oneshots/short stories about various Rangers who may or may not be canon.
1. Eight Knights (1)

"No further."

The voice was loud and echoed clearly in the trees, but the speaker was nowhere to be seen. The swordsmen swung their heads rapidly from side to side, peering into the shadows and between the trees to look for the him. The voice was unmistakably male, with a menace to it that had caused the men to stop in their tracks as they had heard it.

"Show yourself!" the lead swordsman called, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, beginning to loosen it in its sheath.

"Another inch and I'll put a hole in your hand."

The man wavered but didn't remove his hand from the sword. After a moment of pause, he replied, "You may be able to hide, but I'm not sure you're capable of that, friend."

He had barely finished the sentence when an arrow materialized in his flowing purple cloak, snatching the rim and tearing the fabric clean off his shoulders. The arrow had such force behind it that it continued carrying the cloak until it buried itself into the trunk of a tree behind him. Instinctively, the man drew his sword, holding it with both hands, and tried to locate where the arrow had come from.

Before he could even begin to look, another arrow flew out of the trees, just as fast as the first, and slammed into the hilt of the man's sword, knocking it clean out of his grip and sprawling onto the ground below.

A man melted out of the trees; shorter than the average, with a massive longbow in his hands, held idly but already with another arrow nocked to the string. Dominating most of his form was a huge cloak, tightly woven with wool, mottled with seemingly random patches of greys and greens, which caused his form to shimmer and sometimes disappear disconcertingly as he moved out of the treeline.

A brown leather tunic was visible under the cloak, and a strange leather scabbard hung at his waist, with two knives holstered: a larger, flatter saxe, and a smaller, thinner one. A quiver peered over his left shoulder, bristling with arrows. His face was concealed, even in the noon sun, by the cowl that covered his head and face, hiding them deep in shadow.

"For the record, I am not your friend."

The swordsman wavered, taking a slight step backwards. As he did, he saw a slight flash of metal in the sunlight as the man shifted to watch him. Examining it more closely, he saw it was a jagged silver shape - an oakleaf.

Understanding flowed through the man and his eyes widened. He braced to run when the Ranger turned his attention to another man, but he must have noticed the movement.

"Even if I did get distracted," he said mildly, "you would never make it to the trees."

The swordsman didn't doubt him for a moment. He resigned himself to the situation and relaxed slightly. "What do you plan to do with us?"

"I could kill you," the Ranger replied. "You're traitors to the Kingdom, you know. I have the authority."

A few of the half-dozen or so swordsmen gulped at that.

"But I think your trial would be fairer at Castle Araluen," he added, "than in the woods bordering the Fenway fief."

The Ranger nodded to himself, before continuing, "It was a clever plan. No sane person would ever consider chasing you through the Fens. But of course, you'd have to be insane to go through the Fens yourself. And fools to believe it would work, and that nobody had sent a ship to the beach to intercept you yet."

He paused for a moment. "It was a clever plan, but not every captain can be bought."

The swordsmen groaned as he spelled out their plan.

A group of knights had attempted to revolt against the baron of the appropriately-named Fenway fief, which bordered the Fens. These Fens helped prevent invaders - such as the Skandians - from invading the relatively undefended south-east portion of Araluen, but they were notoriously difficult to navigate for anyone but the Rangers, who had mapped them extensively. When their plot had been foiled, they had attempted to bribe the captain of one of the Araluan fleet's ships to sail round to the far side of the fens to pick them up and get them away from Araluen.

The Ranger turned his head to face the path behind him, then called, "It's them, all right, Battlemaster."

The sound of hooves began and it became obvious that Fenway's Battlemaster had been stationed around the next bend, likely with a number of cavalry to support him. The Ranger turned back casually, only to be confronted with the savage image of a man with nothing to lose running at him with a large sword.

He raised his longbow and drew it back in an instant, but did not release.

"Stop."

The man was beyond reason however, and kept coming. The Ranger still did not release, however, leaving the other swordsmen to watch with panicked fascination at the sight.

"Last chance," the Ranger warned again, as composed as ever. The man kept coming, brandishing the sword high, ready to bring an overhead cut down on the smaller man.

At the last moment, the Ranger dropped his longbow, the arrow clattering to the ground. With one fluid motion, he snatched the two knives from their scabbard, bringing them up together, and crossed them above his head; the saxe supported by the smaller knife. The swordsman man threw his energy into the savage overhead blow, only to find it was stopped entirely by the crossed knives. He stared at the Ranger in astonishment.

"That's a terrible waste of a sword," he said simply, a note of sadness in his voice.

The swordsman withdrew from the attack and instead threw a side cut at him, but that was similarly blocked. Growling, he feinted cut from the left and changed to a whirling overhead blow, but the Ranger predicted it and blocked it easily.

"If you keep this up, you're going to ruin your sword," the Ranger insisted.

The man moved away and changed tactics. He threw himself into a thrust, knowing the Ranger's block would be ineffective. The Ranger gave a small sigh of disappointment as he saw the attack, batting it away with the saxe. Suddenly, without any resistance for the sword, the man stumbled forward, straight into the waiting Ranger's iron grip. He knocked the sword, now full of nicks from the impacts with the two knives, from the startled man's hand and brought the smaller knife up to his throat.

"I told you you'd ruin your sword," he chided him from underneath the cowl which, even at such close proximity, concealed his entire face.

The cavalry had reached them now, and the Ranger contemptuously released the man, who promptly collapsed into the dust. The man scrambled for his sword but the Ranger flicked it behind him to the feet of the waiting Battlemaster, just dismounting his battlehorse.

"Very impressive, Ranger," the man commented shakily. He'd been worried the Ranger wouldn't be able to hold his own against a swordsman, especially a knight.

"Battleschools train against the double knife defense, don't they?" the Ranger asked casually, sheathing his knives and collecting his bow and fallen arrow.

"Yes, but it's not an extensive course," the Battlemaster said. "It's not often we fight Rangers."

"Thankfully for the both of us," the Ranger added.

"Indeed," the Battlemaster nodded. "Now, let's deal with this scum."

He grabbed the fallen swordsman by the collar and dragged him to his feet. The other swordsmen had been disarmed and rounded up by the cavalry he had brought.

"Any excuses?" the Battlemaster asked gruffly.

The swordsman began to mumble some kind of sentence, but stopped when he realized it would only serve to embarrass him. He resigned himself to silence.

"I thought not." The Battlemaster released him, but this time he managed to stay on his feet.

"Collect their weapons," he said to the cavalry. "We'll bring them to the castle for tonight and set off for Araluen tomorrow."


	2. Eight Knights (2)

The Ranger, whose name was Dearn, rode slowly behind the procession of carts and horses which contained the eight prisoners. He was a witness to their crimes, having been present when they had fled the castle at Fenway, killing guards and watchmen as they did so. And of course he had stopped them entering the Fens when they tried to make their way to the Araluan coast.

Now he was trailing at the end of a column of soldiers and knights who were to guard the prisoners. It would be like this until they reached Castle Araluen, where they would finally be able to have a decent rest until the next morning - the best time to deal with eight traitorous knights.

His job, for now, was to watch the column and make sure nothing was amiss. He would also act as a rear guard, scanning the area behind the column and making sure nobody that might be concealed in the trees would try to ambush them from behind. As a Ranger, he specialized in unseen movement and would be the best out of anyone in the column at spotting those hidden in the shadows.

As it turned out, some in the Kingdom must have favored the traitors, though these newcomers were not the most subtle of allies. Just after they had set out on their second day of traveling toward Araluen, Dearn's Ranger horse warned him that they were being trailed, although distantly. He subtly passed the message to the guards ahead of him, who sent it along the column. He thought the incoming might be subtle about their ways, but they were anything but. Within an hour the hoofbeats were audible and soon enough they could be felt in the ground. The horses, however, were not in sight. The column halted and the guards bunched around the carts defensively, the prisoners boxed in by other carts so they could not escape even if they managed to breach the locks on their own cart.

Soon enough, the horses were coming round a bend on the path. They were large and muscular, and their riders likewise. They carried swords and axes both, and some were armed with low-powered bows which Dearn doubted would trouble the column much. A dozen knights had come along to guard the column, and half of them were now posted alongside Dearn, weapons ready.

"Keep them engaged, but don't bring too many men out that we leave any side of the column unguarded," Dearn warned. "The prisoners will take any opportunity to escape. We need to defend the column, but it's not worth it if they all escape in the process."

They grumbled assent and drew their swords. As the hostile horsemen came closer, it became obvious they hadn't been trained to raid a column, especially one this heavily guarded. Nor were they the greatest of cavalrymen; wobbling on their horses as the weight of their armor and swords in their hands unbalanced them. They came into the range of Dearn's longbow and he calculated how he'd fire the shot he'd need to take down the frontmost horseman. It took him hardly a second and he compensated for that, firing a bit lower.

The arrow slammed straight into the head horseman's chest, and he tumbled out of the saddle, dragging his horse down with him. Chaos ensued as the fallen man and his horse tripped and knocked down even more men. The column had a small force of fifteen archers, who Dearn now turned to, signalling for them to begin firing. Their arrows rained down, hitting more horsemen, until there was a shout from the other side of the defensive ring and the sound of steel on steel rang out.

"Stay here," Dearn told the half-dozen knights, wheeling his horse around. "Keep the archers firing!"

He rushed around to the other side of the ring, where he found a pitched battle had erupted. He cursed himself for being so foolish as to not have checked the area ahead of the column for enemies, as now a group of swordsmen were engaged with the knights and soldiers posted on this side of the defensive ring. Dearn loosed several arrows in quick succession at the new swordsmen pouring out of the treeline, until they got the idea and stopped coming - or there were none left. He hoped for the latter. He saw two of the knights were locked in pitched duels with some of the more skilled swordsmen, while the other four were attempting to order the panicked soldiers into organized ranks.

"Attention!" Dearn yelled at no one in particular, and for a startling moment, the scene fell quiet. Then the knights took the opportunity to strike down their respective opponents and order the soldiers into ranks to combat those remaining.

Dearn nodded, reassured that the knights could hold off the swordsmen for the time being, and decided to check on the prisoners. He leaped off of his horse, not for the first time thankful that they were trained to stay composed during times of combat. He snatched onto the edge of the carts gathered around the prison cart, and scrambled onto the top. He peered at the prison cart, where the eight prisoners were forced to stand uncomfortably.

"Having fun?" Dearn called down.

"I ask you the same," one sneered back.

"Plenty," he replied. "Just remember, I'll be right here if you feel like breaking out."

He turned to look at the situation at the back of the column. The archers were still making a mess of the cavalry's approach, but they'd gained a good thirty meters since he'd last checked, just a few minutes before.

"Knights!" Dearn called down to the group. "Half of you to the other side, we have infantry incoming!"

Without question, three of the knights split off, running toward the fight that had broken out on the front side of the column. Dearn didn't bother to watch; he began firing at the horsemen who were steadily making their way toward the column, but he knew he didn't have enough arrows for it and he couldn't immobilize all of the horsemen even if he did; even with the support of the archers.

He knew that the three knights and the dozen soldiers that stood at arms in front of the archers wouldn't be able to hold off the horsemen either; let alone bring them down. They would need more men, but the bulk of the defense was currently engaged in a savage fight with the swordsmen who had ambushed them at the front of the column. He risked a glance back over at them; from his vantage point on top of the carts he could see all sides of the column, as to keep an eye on the entirety of the defense and keep watch for any more hostile forces that might move in from the treeline. He saw the fight was thinning to the front of the column as the knights, their numbers bolstered to nine, organized the soldiers and engaged the two dozen or so remaining swordsmen.

"Oi!" Dearn yelled. "When you're done with them, half of you over here! We have cavalry on the charge!"

He was about to turn away, but then added, "And make sure to keep this side defended, for God's sake, just in case there's more of them!"

Several of the knights signalled an affirmative and Dearn turned back, alarmed to see that the cavalry were closing in and that it would be only a few minutes until the knights would be forced to engage them.

"Keep the archers clear!" he ordered. "But don't put yourself in excessive danger. The carts will make effective cover if you need it, but the closer they get to the prisoners the worse!"

"Is the fight not going too well, Ranger?" one of the prisoners snarled up at him.

"I could still put a hole through that hand of yours," he retorted sharply.

He continued firing on the cavalry with the archers, and now he saw the horsemen armed with bows were raising and firing on Dearn, prioritizing him over the infantry below. They assumed he would be an easy target, standing high on the carts, and he was costing them precious troops with his bow. He ducked to avoid the first few, then dodged across carts for the next volley. None were particularly accurate, but he wasn't going to take the risk of staying still for too long. All the while, he continued firing, until on one occasion he reached for an arrow and found his quiver bare.

He scowled and glanced over at the front side of the column, where the knights and soldiers were finishing off the last few enemies.

"Hurry up, they're almost on us!" Dearn called. "Watch for arrows on your way in!"

Several arrows had lodged into the carts and Dearn now wrenched them from the timber, inspecting them as he avoided more volleys of the things. They couldn't compare to his Ranger arrows, but they would do for this occasion. He nocked the first to his bowstring and fired experimentally, but found the shot went too far. It was lighter than the arrows he was accustomed to, he noted, nocking a second arrow. He fired again, compensating for the lighter projectile, and the arrow hit home, sending a horseman tumbling from his saddle.


	3. Eight Knights (3)

By this time, five knights had made their way to the rear of the column, leading a few dozen or so soldiers with them. The cavalry was almost upon the column now, with a long trail of fallen or dead horses and riders behind them. The knights barely had time to organize the soldiers, collect spears and mount them in the ground before the cavalry arrived. Half a dozen horses were killed or wounded on the spears immediately. Those behind them collided or were forced to stop, and several of the horsemen dismounted, charging the column's defenses on foot. Chaos now ensued as the knights and soldiers drew swords and engaged the men, who carried swords or axes themselves. The hostile bowmen stayed behind, firing blindly over the crowd of horses that were now trapped between the fight ahead and archers behind.

"Archers!" Dearn called to the Araluan archers below, who had stopped firing since the cavalry had arrived. "They have a group of bowmen behind that mess of horses. Get as high as you can, however you can do it, and take care of them!"

He didn't linger to watch their response; dashing across the carts, collecting up arrows from them as he did so. In the end, he had a good dozen or so and had to load them into his quiver to store them all. He began to fire them down on the archers at the rear of the horses until he'd emptied the quiver again. He repeated the process twice more, and then saw arrows arcing in at them from other directions. The Araluan archers had finally taken position, it seemed, and now the enemy bowmen were dropping like flies. Assured they could finish them off, Dearn turned his attention the ground fight going on below.

Two of the knights had already been killed and the rest were locked in combat with the enemies. The soldiers aided them though; and together they outnumbered the hostiles by a narrow count. Things began to look positive as fights turned more two-on-one that one-on-one, but suddenly there was a yell from the far side of the column and soldiers began clambering onto the carts behind Dearn.

A dozen soldiers had emerged from the treeline closest to the column; cutting down the guards almost immediately. They climbed the carts, expecting to easily break out the eight prisoners. What they weren't counting on was Dearn, standing opposite them. He raised his bow, drawing it back, and called to them across the space, "Get down."

One laughed. "Not a chance!"

Dearn shrugged. "If you say so."

Two of the men fell before the others could scatter across the cart, looking for cover. There was none. Dearn had taken down three more before he ran out of arrows. Three of the survivors jumped down to the prison cart and began desperately trying to break it. Dearn jumped down himself, careful to avoid arrow shafts that would trip him, and drew his two knives. He rushed over and slashed the closest man on the chest, shoving him toward his friends with his arm. He quickly blocked a sword strike from the second man, countering by lodging the smaller throwing knife into his stomach. The third and final man wielded an axe, however, and Dearn cursed before leaping out of the way of his first strike.

The double knife defense was useless against axemen, even if he had his throwing knife. It wasn't exactly shouted across Araluen, but at close range, axemen were lethally effective against Rangers. Dearn dodged around the cart and came face to face with the prisoners yet again.

"Not so arrogant now, are you?" one jeered.

"A nice, flat knife blade like this would make a good substitute for an arrow head," he grunted back.

The axeman approached round the corner, swinging the axe savagely, but all he managed to do was lodge it in the edge of the cart. Dearn rushed forward, but the man was stronger than he thought, and managed to dislodge the axe before he reached him. He began to swing it around, but before he could put the power into the attack, an arrow took him in the shoulder. Another swiftly followed it, hitting him in the thigh, and Dearn finished him with a swift blow to the chest. He nodded to the pair of archers who had taken position on the carts above, and they responded likewise.

By this time, the four surviving soldiers had forfeited their attempts to free the prisoners alone and were attacking the group of knights and soldiers who still fought the cavalrymen outside the defensive ring. Dearn clambered back up the carts and stood beside the two archers. The situation wasn't good - there were only two knights left and a third of the soldiers. Meanwhile, there was a good two dozen enemies, including the four who had attacked from behind. Now, the remaining forces were encircled and Dearn could do nothing but watch as they were struck down. He ordered the archers to fall back and turned to the remaining three knights and dozen soldiers only the other side of the carts.

"We have two dozen soldiers coming for us, and it's quite possible they have more on the way," he explained. "Our best chance is to shift one of the carts, get these prisoners out and try to escape on foot."

The knights got straight to it, with half the soldiers helping, leaving the rest of the Araluan forces to defend until they could finish the job.

"There's thick treeline on the right side, so they're unlikely to come through that way. You six soldiers, hold the right flank. How many archers do we have left?"

"Seven, sir!"

"Four of you hold with them; the rest of you fan out on the carts and tell me if they try to get around another way. Shoot at them if you need to. Go!"

The Araluans moved to do as they were instructed, but Dearn knew they had a slim chance of success. Each of these men had pledged to give their lives in service of Araluen if necessary, but he'd rather keep as many alive as he could. He knew it would be impossible for them all to survive, considering they were outnumbered as they were.

"Cart's clear!"

Dearn looked down at the knights, seeing they had indeed cleared the cart. One drew his sword and sheared the lock clean off the prison cart, and began to roughly clear it of prisoners. Once the eight were out, Dearn said, "Keep an eye on them. They're sneaky ones."

Turning to the three archers, he called, "We've got them! Come on!"

Dearn dropped down to the ground, calling his horse to him quickly. He ordered it run off down the path, to the nearest castle. As a Ranger horse, he knew it would be able to outrun the hostile soldiers, who had the barrier of the column to get around, and they would be searching for the prisoners, not a horse. He planned to bring the prisoners to the same castle he now sent his horse to - but not through the same route. He would take the remaining men and the prisoners through the thick woodlands to the right of the column, where the dozen soldiers had emerged in their attempt to free the prisoners. Turn out they got what the wanted, Dearn contemplated grimly, watching the archers withdraw to his position.

"Through the thickest of the trees over there," he ordered the remaining three knights, nine soldiers and six archers. He shook his head sadly, considering how many they had lost in their defense, only to have failed.

The prisoners were bunched up together, swearing at the soldiers as they roughly pushed them into the narrow gaps between the trees. Dearn again brought up the rear of the group, his quiver now stocked with arrows he'd scavenged in the previous few minutes. Looking back through the gaps in the trees, he saw the soldiers spilling into the gap in the carts, having not yet figured out what had happened.

It took several hours, but they made it out of the forest, not encountering any further attacks, and made it to the castle Dearn had sent his horse. It was past midnight by that point, the growing darkness likely having discouraged their pursuers from following them into the forest. He had sent the surviving men to rest and have their injuries inspected at once, and explained the situation to the fief's baron and castle lord, who had understood immediately and had the prisoners locked away until a message could be sent to Araluen explaining what had happened. Castle security was raised severely in fear of the surviving thirty-odd men who had attacked the column, but nothing came of it. The men likely melted out of their ranks after that point, disheartened that they had come so close to their quarry but failed to retrieve it.

The column had been devastated, losing nine of its original twelve knights, forty-one of its fifty soldiers and nine of its fifteen archers. But the prisoners had been secured and after two day's stay at the castle, a convoy from the Araluen fief itself came to secure the prisoners, and this time only the Ranger accompanied them to Castle Araluen; the men stayed to recuperate or return to the Fenway fief.


	4. The Rogue Ranger

**AN: When I first made this fanfic, I had a load of ideas... which seem to have fled now that I made this a reality. Scumbag brain.**

**Any ideas for stories would be welcome, if you have them!**

* * *

Arrows thudded into the trees around him, so close he could hear wood snapping and splintering. A dozen figures were perched on a hill above, almost invisible in the growing darkness in their long cloaks and cowls which blended into the forested background. They were only visible because of their constant movement; turning and scanning the area, spinning and twirling and all the while sending arrows shooting into the trees.

These were no ordinary archers; their hands moved with almost unnatural regularity and speed, selecting an arrow from their quivers, nocking, raising, drawing and firing their bows in a single movement, in a split second action that left you either dead or wondering if you actually saw it happening.

They were Araluan Rangers, trained since they were boys to fire and kill in an instant with uncanny accuracy and terrifying efficiency. And now a good chunk of the Ranger Corps of Araluen was sitting atop the mound of dirt and grass that the lone man, deep within a Ranger's signature cloak and cowl, now watched, hardly daring to blink or breathe, even though he knew the setting sun was to his back and his features were bathed in impenetrable shadows.

An arrow lodged into a tree to his direct left, piercing deep into it so only the last two inches of the arrow were visible outside of the trunk. The Rangers above fired randomly, knowing the man they hunted was one of them, trained to hide in plain sight, blend into the background, moving silently and above all gather intelligence better than anyone else in the known world. A rogue Ranger could spread secrets and weaknesses about almost every part of Araluen, and the more experienced a Ranger was, the more knowledge he had stored in his head. And this Ranger was experienced indeed.

He dared not move in case the Rangers were to see the minute change in the trees. They turned and span seemingly at random, but he knew it was a complex system of movement - mostly improvised, but a system nonetheless. Twelve Rangers could scan and watch an area like this easily; they were experts at detecting movement and spotting hidden enemies, and it only helped that they had practiced unseen movement for years and years themselves.

The rogue Ranger had been sitting for a half hour already. The Rangers had a seemingly infinite supply of arrows; he did not know where they kept getting them from, since a standard Ranger quiver held only two dozen arrows. They shot at any sign of movement which, with the evening breeze blowing in, was almost everywhere. If he synchronized with the breeze and with a movement of a Ranger, he decided he would be able to make it around to the back of the tree if he moved very, very fast. He knew he would have to move at the very first instant he saw the chance. Waiting for them to lower their guard would not work - Rangers could stay stock-still for hours on end and stay as alert as if they were in a battle.

It took him a further ten minutes, but he found his chance. Just after sunset, the wind picked up, tugging at the Rangers' cloaks, and swirling the trees around, making a fair amount of noise and a lot of movement to track. As one Ranger turned to look in the direction of the rogue Ranger, the wind snatched up the corner of his cloak and blew it up to his arms, tangling around his bowstring. It took him but a moment to clear it, but that was all the rogue Ranger needed to make his move. In a single, fluent action, he span once to the right, letting himself almost fall around to the other side of the tree, where he gathered his cloak back around him as to prevent it being seen around the other side of the tree, and froze, listening.

For a few moments, there was nothing. Then he heard a very distant voice and groaned internally. Either they had seen the movement, or the Ranger had told the others of the tiny opportunity his distraction had provided. It seemed the latter, as suddenly, multiple arrows began landing all around him. He knew they were trying to scare him out of his position; hoping he would run in an attempt to flee from the arrow storm. He knew better, and they should have known better than to try it on him. This storm lasted a few minutes, at which point the sound of firing slowed slightly and he knew they were coming for him. They had likely scanned the trees which firing, and recognized that one of them had changed minutely. This tiny clue was enough for them, and now they approached silently on him, creeping closer, scanning the trees, saxe and throwing knives at the ready, concealed in their deep cloaks and cowls. They were prowling through the trees, with years of experience on their side, looking for an out of place figure…

He ducked.

A saxe knife flashed past the back of his head, severing the fabric of his cowl.

He drew his own saxe and, with the built-up energy of a three quarter hour of stillness behind the strike, brought it into the man's chest.

The man grunted and collapsed forward. The rogue dashed forward, sprinting through the trees, but already two, four, six arrows were on their way, biting into the trees around him. Only his years of training and instinct saved him. Pounding feet, yelling voices, and he heard the constant rain of arrows halt, and suddenly nine more pairs of feet were coming down the hill, bows in hand. He risked a glance back, and saw cloaks whipping through the wind, arrows flying, and more Rangers were pouring into the trees, loosing arrows at the lone, now-obvious figure.

He dodged behind a tree and heard more arrows thump around him, but they soon stopped. He risked a glance from the tree and saw - nothing. Just forest, with fading visibility in the darkening light. The trees waved in the evening wind, and leaves fluttered to the ground, masking any noise that might be made.

He cursed himself for stopping, because now the Rangers were gone - hidden into the trees, no doubt, knives drawn yet again, moving in to surround him. His only chance was to start running again, without giving any sign he was doing it, and fire as many arrows back as he could.

Or, he thought, another plan forming in his mind, he could take down several of them for sure.

He waited a few seconds, hidden deep within his cloak, unmoving. Then, in a moment, he took a single, extremely fast step forward.

Immediately, four Rangers seemed to melt out of the trees around him as they brought up their longbows and loosed arrows at where they thought he would be; several meters ahead of his actual position. Immediately, he began firing his own arrows, and three of the four were dead before they could even begin to aim another shot. Then he dashed toward the last Ranger, his throwing knife coming up in an arc already, the throw calculating itself in his head. He drew back his hand, then brought it forward rapidly, releasing the knife and leaping to the side as an arrow whizzed through the air where he had been a moment before.

He didn't wait to see if he'd hit, or to retrieve the knife - he ran. Straight into the trees, spraying arrows behind him, making sure nobody could follow him too closely as he sprinted in a desperate attempt to escape. Seven Rangers were left, he knew, but he had taken down five by himself and that was a daunting task, no matter who you were. He knew that, even if he died, that was a tenth of the Ranger Corps dead and there was nothing they could do about it. Smirking to himself, he continued sprinting until he began to see moonlight shining through the trees - the edge of the forest was approaching. He had not seen a single sign of life in five minutes, but that was to be expected - the Rangers were likely trying to stalk him. As he approached the edge of the trees, he began to slip stealthy between them, hiding in the patches of shadow and following the shifting movements of the leaves. Soon enough, he made it to the edge and, after observing for a few minutes to make sure there were no Rangers to see him, he began to leave the forest behind, becoming part of the environment, until he was almost sure nobody could see him.

That was, until an arrow took him in the back. He yowled in agony and collapsed, vision swimming, and unconsciously heard stealthy footsteps coming across the grass next to him. A mottled cloak slid across the ground and a cowl was pulled back, revealing a bored face painted with a scowl. The man dropped to one knee and broke the arrow shaft, then pushed the rogue onto his side.

The scowl faded slightly into an expression of misgiving, as he realized the man would likely die from the wound. He shrugged slightly, deciding he would doubtlessly be executed nonetheless. He carried information too dangerous to be let into the open; banishment was out of the question. The Ranger drew his small throwing knife, and the man looked at him in a sort of thankful way. But the Ranger slid the rogue's longbow off his back and laid it in his hands with grudging respect. He hadn't seen the fight himself, but he knew the dozen Rangers must have been outwitted or outfought valiantly and spectacularly by this man, who now lay dying at his feet.

Of course, I only saw the last bit. I did fire that arrow, after all. Nobody really knows how long he hid or what paths he took; they lost sight of him for a while. I saw him stalk out of the trees - very stealthy, but not invisible.

It was an easy shot, really.


	5. Reconnaissance (1)

**AN: Thanks to TortoisetheStoryteller for inspiring me to write this one; "just think about what sorts of things Rangers are trained to handle and what could go wrong."**

**When I say the Ranger featured here is considered one of the best unseen movers, just remember; this is set thirteen years before The Ruins of Gorlan. Gilan probably hadn't even started Battleschool training yet; let alone his Ranger training under Halt.**

**Thank you to everyone who's followed or reviewed! Keep suggesting things if you have ideas.**

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The first thing he thought as he carefully peered around the corner was, _My God, there's thousands of them._

And so there was, as much of an exaggeration as he first thought it was. A huge, sprawling mess of Wargals, spread across the bland, rocky plain, clad in armor and with all sorts of weapons in hand, whether it be swords, waraxes, spears, javelins, even bows. They ranged all over the plain, clambering across rocks and walking around, completely lacking a sense of purpose or motivation. But the eeriest thing was the silence - a complete lack of noise from the Wargals. Perhaps it was the wind tearing away the sound, but they made no discernible noises as they moved and interacted. They never spoke, never grunted, not even the sound of breathing could be heard from them.

He stayed, watching, for a few minutes, scanning the Wargals, observing them and trying to estimate their numbers. Once he was satisfied he had learned all he could, he stealthily slid back into his cover; a jumble of rocks that had fallen in a rockfall several weeks earlier, and now lay at the base of one of the pure stone mountains. Recalling this, the man shuddered and attempted to sink deeper into his mottled cloak.

He was, of course, a Ranger of Araluen, as any other Ranger would have identified him. However, his cloak was mottled differently from the norm - in differing shades of grays and blacks, as better to blend into the environment he was now scouting, gathering intelligence for the Kingdom. For the hundredth time, he wished someone else had been picked for the job, instead of him.

He was in the Mountains of Rain and Night, a series of windswept, stony mountains surrounding and populating a plateau where a near-constant wind blew, bringing with it rain and storms from the coast, which bordered the Mountains on the southern and eastern faces. It was south of the Kingdom of Araluen, accessible only by a narrow path through the mountains called Three Step Pass, and west of Celtica, where it was separated by a huge scar in the earth known as the Fissure. This meant it was very difficult to access; the only practical way in or out was Three Step Pass, which was now guarded all hours of the day and days of the week by Araluan soldiers.

Two years before, the baron of the Gorlan fief, Morgarath, had attempted to seize control of Araluen just after Prince Duncan had been instated as the new King of Araluen. He was young and inexperienced, and Morgarath, having secretly trained an army of Wargals, native to the Mountains of Rain and Night, believed he could take the throne. It was a costly campaign, but in the end, aided and advised by many respected barons and Battlemasters of various fiefs, Duncan had repelled Morgarath's attack. The final battle of the short war was the Battle of Hackham Heath, where a Ranger had directed a force of cavalry to ambush Morgarath's Wargal army. This had instilled a fear of horses into every last Wargal, through unknown means, and so they were driven back into Three Step Pass and finally pushed into the Mountains of Rain and Night, taking Morgarath with them.

He still resided there with his army of Wargals, no doubt planning his revenge. It had been two years since his downfall and there had not been a single sign of him in the Pass. Some even believed he might have died. And so this Ranger, named Parr, had been assigned to investigate. He was considered one of the best unseen movers in the Corps, able to outwit some of the most senior Rangers with his skill.

Of course, he wasn't entirely alone. There was another Ranger who had been assigned with him; named Nevann. He was similarly scouting the area, inspecting the Wargal numbers. They would meet up when they had completed their surveys of Wargal armies - or sooner, if they needed it.

Gathering his cloak around him, Parr slipped into the shadows of the rocks, practically invisible against the dull, gray background. He moved past the Wargals, using his changing position to modify and adjust his count of their numbers; he ended up with an estimate somewhere between three and a half thousand to four thousand. It was a worrying situation - and there were many more of these Wargals in similar groups spread throughout the Mountains. Nevann was assigned to the western half, toward Celtica and the Fissure, while Parr was scouting the eastern half, toward the sea and closer to Three Step Pass.

While he'd been given the safer job, it was dangerous nonetheless. If he was discovered, he'd have every Wargal in the Mountains - tens of thousands, quite probably - after him. They would have Three Step Pass guarded extensively, no doubt; the coast would be next priority and probably even the Fissure would have some guards. The rest of the Wargals would scour every rock and pebble, looking for him.

No chance to escape.

Parr swallowed hard and tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. He slipped between the rocks, gradually making his way around one of the massive, pillaring Mountains. Once he reached the other side, he glanced back, and saw that the Wargal mass had not moved. It was here he last reassessed his numbers, bringing his estimate to the almost four thousand, on one plain.

Several days later, he'd finally assessed the last Wargal army. He'd found another seven of them over the days, ranging from three to six thousand strong each. He had never come too close to discovery, but had kept his guard up nonetheless. He knew Morgarath wouldn't expect two Rangers to be sneaking through his territory, and that his Wargals would never be able to pick a Ranger out of the rocky mountains from any distance farther than five meters, but the former baron was not a fool.

Two days later, Parr arrived at the arranged meeting point, in a sheltered gap between two of the Mountains, and found something he had not expected - a campsite already set up. It had been there for at least three or four days. There was a single camouflage tent pitched; it was undoubtedly a Ranger. But why would Nevann have come so early?

Cautiously, he pushed open the flap of the tent. It was definitely a Ranger - camouflage cloak and all the right supplies set up.

"Curse me, Parr!" Nevann cried, shaking his head weakly. "I've failed us."

He shifted his cloak and Parr saw several layers of bloodstained bandages covering a massive wound in the man's side.


	6. Reconnaissance (2)

**AN: For everyone asking how this works, if you see a number in parentheses (these things) next to a chapter name, then it's part of a multi-chapter story. For example, Eight Knights is a three-part story, making up chapters one, two and three. Reconnaissance will take up at least three parts and so it'll make up at least chapters five, six and seven, but the numbers next to the names are (1), (2) and (3) respectively. So you can tell if it's a single-chapter story like The Rogue Ranger or otherwise by checking for that. Hope I didn't confuse anyone.**

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Parr rushed into the tent, the camouflage flap folding in behind him, and threw his own cloak to the ground.

"What have you done to yourself?" he demanded.

Nevann shook his head again, and when he spoke, it was obvious there was much more than a wound that pained him.

"I failed the Kingdom," he cried, eyes full of horror. "I was scouting the last group - there were only five on my side of the Mountains. I was about to move on, having estimated numbers around seven thousand-" Parr's eyes widened at that, "-and a Wargal came out of nowhere, axe swinging."

Parr muttered a curse. "How did he find you?"

"I don't know! He came at me and before I could react he gave me _this_. I slipped a knife into his chest right after but I had to camp for a half-day before I could move on. I hardly made it here…" He trailed off as the pain in his eyes intensified.

"You'll make it," Parr said sincerely. "We have enough time to get through the Pass; you patched it up well enough."

Nevann shook his head wildly. "I failed the Kingdom, Parr," he said again. "They'll have found the Wargal by now; I wasn't strong enough to hide it. I was bleeding rather badly myself; they'll be able to tell it's not Wargal blood."

Parr cursed again, then sat for several minutes, unable to see a solution to the problem.

"Seven thousand, you said?" he asked finally.

Nevann nodded absently. "A fair lot of them. The rest had four to six thousand each; this one was much closer to the main Mountains - probably where Morgarath's hiding."

"I got three to six each myself," Parr said. "I estimate about thirty-five thousand on the eastern side."

Nevann looked horrified. "I totalled twenty-seven thousand. How can the Kingdom possibly match sixty-two thousand Wargals? That's insanity!" He dragged his hands down his face wearily.

"How much sleep have you had in the last few days?" Parr questioned.

"Almost none," he replied. "I need to keep a watch, don't I?"

Parr scowled. "Sleep, now. I'll keep watch. You need your rest if you want that wound to heal up. And don't keep yourself awake worrying."

He seemed unhappy, but nodded and did as he was told. The next day, they set out again, north-east toward Three Step Pass. Their original directive had been to gather as much information as they could - Wargal numbers, troop positioning, the situation of their supplied, and especially anything concerning Morgarath personally. They had also been ordered to keep their personal safety above anything else; a little information returned to the Corps was better than a lot lost because they had been killed in action.

On their second day of traveling, burdened by Nevann's injury, they had only made it to the north-eastern edge of the collection of peaks in the center of the Mountains. They were crossing the edge of one, having just passed a three thousand-strong Wargal army, when Parr, looking out for sentries or scouts, noticed an out-of-place gap in the mountain. As much as he tried to ignore it, his natural Ranger curiosity got the better of him, and he stopped in the most hidden place he could find.

"There's something up ahead," he explained to Nevann.

"So you saw it too?" he replied.

Parr nodded, having expected his response. "No following me, alright? Rest here."

Without waiting for a reply, Parr slipped his longbow into his hands and set off to investigate.

He scaled the several meters of cliff he needed to reach the irregularity, maintaining his stealth the entire time. He slipped silently onto a small outcropping of rock above, checking behind him to make sure Nevann hadn't followed. Parr was sure that he could, even with the axe wound in his side. After confirming that he wasn't following, Parr took a closer look at where he now was. The irregularity turned out to be a dark fabric that was strung over a small gap in the rock, just large enough for a man to pass through. Parr took a few minutes to make sure it wasn't a trap of some sort, then moved it aside just enough to see inside.

It took him a moment to realize he was looking at the hollowed-out inside of one of the Mountains. In what must have been a terrific effort, Morgarath's Wargals had carved out a cylindrical cavern, at least one hundred meters in diameter and just as tall. Chiseled out of the stone itself was a tall throne encrusted with various jewels and precious stones, no doubt gathered from within the stone that had been removed from the mountain. Two dozen or so torches were mounted on the walls, evenly spaced, lighting it enough to see but leaving some spaces ominously dark. The floor of the space was neatly cut parallel to the walls, but had not been covered and thus was still solid stone.

Parr was about five meters above this area, peering down upon it from a thin catwalk of loosely-tied stones that was around two meters wide, stretching around the entire room. He recognized it as a kind of scaffolding; this was often used when constructing larger buildings in the Kingdom, so the builders could stand alongside the project at its level. Normally it would be made of wood, but trees were very scarce in the rocky and barren Mountains, and so the next best material for general building was, of course, the ever-abundant stone. It was far from ideal for building things like this, but Parr was convinced it would hold his weight - after all, it had been designed to accommodate Wargals.

He carefully stepped onto it, noting the torches spread around the circumference. He looked up, curious to see if there was another scaffolding above, but there was nothing visible - just blackness as far as he could see. The stone held his weight, and he began to tread carefully along, trying to see if there was any way down. He'd very much like to explore this seemingly-empty area - Morgarath's throne room, by the looks of it. The man had quite an ego.

After making his way about a third of the way round the scaffolding, Parr realized that the throne was indeed occupied - the Lord of Rain and Night was so well-fitted to his throne that, combined with the angle Parr was facing it at and the eye-catching gemstones embedded in it, he was almost indistinguishable from the cold stone around him. It was an eerie and almost terrifying effect; the former baron appeared to be made of stone himself, his face featureless and eyes closed. His chest moved in a regular motion, but Parr refused to believe anyone could sleep so easily on such a material as stone from the Mountains.

Then he realized what he was looking at. It was Morgarath, the number one enemy of Araluen. His death would mean peace for the entire Kingdom - a threat that no longer had to be worried about. What a stroke of luck! By pure chance, Parr had found one of the access routes to the scaffold above the throne room of the Lord of Rain and Night, and was staring right at him, prone and asleep in his throne room. And the Ranger had his longbow strung on his back, with a full quiver of razor-sharp arrows to go with it.

He silently slipped the bow from his back, nocking an arrow unconsciously as he did so, in a movement practiced thousands of times and put to use hundreds. He raised his bow, calculating the shot in his mind, figuring in the distance and drop and even testing to see if there was any wind - there wasn't. He took a minute to become comfortable with his calculations, knowing he'd only have one chance at this, then drew back his bow, and released.


	7. Reconnaissance (3)

**Sorry for taking so long with this one. Lack of inspiration struck.**

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BOOM.

Stone on stone, a terrible grinding sound that would set anyone's teeth on edge. Parr flinched from the transition from silence and the shaking of the ground as, somewhere nearby, rock shifted.

The arrow went wide, clattering against the stone of Morgarath's throne in a shower of sparks.

Light streamed into the cavern from below Parr, and a squadron of Wargals rushed in, their shadows casting across the room as they scrambled to reach their master, who had leaped to his feet, and was now casting his piercing gaze around the chamber, completely alert.

In an instant, Parr heard the faintest footsteps next to him and knew it was Nevann.

"Damn you," Parr muttered to him as he came to a stop beside him. "You shouldn't have followed me. At least one of us needs to get out of these Mountains alive."

Nevann ignored him, nocked an arrow to his bow and said, "He'll locate us soon enough. He was trained for this kind of thing. We can't let him escape; not this time."

"On three, then?"

"Three."

Parr nocked an arrow to his bow.

"Two."

He gripped the bow and moved into a kneeling position.

"One."

Nevann and he stood simultaneously, moving together in a well-practiced Ranger maneuver. They drew back their bows, sighted Morgarath, still standing at the foot of his throne, and released. He dived to the side, dodging narrowly, and the Wargals began to howl as they sensed his distress. Another barrage came but a moment later, but Morgarath was swift and avoided that too. He retreated across the room, now knowing where the shooters were, dodging almost every twin set of arrows the two Rangers fired at him. Almost.

One of Nevann's arrows took him in the shoulder on the last shot, and Parr's last shot struck his foot as he slowed, daring to think he might have escaped the danger. The wounds were far from lethal, but they were enough. The two Rangers, throwing caution to the wind, leaned far over the guardrail of the scaffolding, raining more arrows down, but the Wargals had reached Morgarath now and they were covering him with their own bulk, taking the barrage of arrows into their shields, armor and limbs.

More Wargals poured into the space, their howls of anger and the clanking of weapons and armor overpowering the twangs of the powerful longbows. Wargals now lay dead or dying atop their brethren and in some cases on top of Morgarath, who was now hidden from the sight of the Rangers. They persisted nonetheless, until their quivers were almost empty and it was apparent there was nothing more to be done.

Parr and Nevann returned to the cover of the scaffolding as the Wargals fanned across the room, their minds not comprehending the situation. To most humans it would be apparent, from the angle of the bodies and the arrows, that someone had been shooting down from above. For the Wargals, their thoughts clouded with their master's distress and pain, thought processes like that did not come as naturally as they did to a human.

"What do we do now?" Nevann hissed as the Wargals began to evaluate the situation.

Parr looked at him darkly. "Run."

"We almost have him!"

"And there's probably a thousand Wargals trying to get into this room right now. They'll sacrifice themselves for Morgarath just like those ones already did. We'll have to get through every single Wargal in the Mountains to get to him. No, we need to leave; get to the Kingdom with what information we have. We've learned a valuable amount and now that Morgarath knows we're here, we'll have to start running now if we want to stand any chance of getting out alive."

Nevann saw his point, but was still reluctant. Parr saw the hesitation in his face and proceeded, "The moment Morgarath has his senses back, he's going to send every Wargal to scour every corner of this place looking for us. He can't let two Rangers get out alive from this place. The simple fact we were ever here at all means his security needs to be tightened; who knows who many of us may have already infiltrated his ranks? We can start running now or we can wait until they've started locking down the entire Mountains. And personally I'd rather get this information to the Kingdom, whether we survive or not."

Parr slid his longbow onto his back and turned, running stealthily back along the scaffolding towards the gap to the exterior of the Mountain, trusting Nevann would follow him shortly.

"We can't afford to gather our things," Parr said over his shoulder. "We need to leave now."

And so they did. For days, they ran day and night, over the Mountains, around the plains, taking the most unorthodox paths they could, eating what little rations they had left on their persons. They dared sleep but a few hours every day; partly it was fear keeping them awake and partly the watch they had to attend to. They moved at the darkest hours of night and slept in the brightest hours of day, moving in the afternoon, sticking to cliffsides and hillocks where the sun was to their backs and the shadows were longest to hide in.

Eventually they saw the tall ring of Mountains on the horizon, and they were nearing the edge of the plateau. They began the trip around the north edge, traveling toward Three Step Pass. Parr's real fear came from what would happen when they reached the Pass. Morgarath had had ample time to arrange a massive force to guard it, leaving the only way out an attempt across the Fissure or a foolhardy attempt to scale the Mountains.

Whatever he was expecting, what he saw when he arrived was not it.


	8. Reconnaissance (4)

**Another cliffhanger last chapter! I am sincerely so, so sorry. I just can't resist. And again, sorry for the delay.**

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There were no Wargal guards staring intensely around at the nearby area. No vast, thousands-strong army waiting for them to arrive. Not even a lookout. There were, however, many Wargals. Packed into the area surrounding the pass, they pressed towards it in a frenzy, growling at each other savagely. After a quick observation, the two Rangers saw that this pattern extended all the way down Three Step Pass, until they were forced to stop.

The Wargals were trying to force their way out of the Mountains of Rain and Night, and the Araluan army was stopping them.

Knights and soldiers were wedged into the pass, hacking away at the approaching Wargal army. Huge losses were being taken on both sides, swords and axes falling with deadly regularity. Archers were stationed behind the main force of soldiers, firing away at the Wargals. It was difficult to gauge how long the battle had been going for, but it seemed that its end was not near.

"How can we get through?" Parr questioned Nevann.

"We can't go over the tops of the cliffs. Too difficult to reach and we'd have to drop all the way down behind our own lines; we can't fall that far and be alright."

"Fight our way through, then?"

"We don't have enough arrows to hold them at range; nor can we hold them off with just our knives. Our best chance is to try to signal the Araluan forces and see if they can help us. Our main advantage is that the Wargals still don't know we're here."

"How can we signal them?"

"Unless you have a horn to call to them, the best thing we can do is try to shoot an arrow down the Pass with a message attached somehow." With a wicked smirk, he added, "And hope we don't hit one of ours."

"And our best chance of sending a message is…?"

"It's ridiculous, but it could work if we get it right," Nevann began. "We get out of these rocks here-" He picked one of the numerous pebbles that were in the area up, "-and carve a message into it using one of our knives, if we can."

"But how do we get it over to them?"

"And here's where it gets even more ridiculous. We replace the arrowhead of one of our arrows with the pebble, then try to fire it over."

"No better alternatives?" Parr asked after a pause.

"Not that I can think of."

"Let's get to it, then."

After a few minutes of searching for a suitable rock, they found one that was somewhat arrowhead-shaped, and began to use their extremely resilient saxe knives to carve a message into it.

"Done."

"Now for the difficult part."

It took some improvisation and time, but they managed to attach the stone to the arrow shaft to form a very awkward, makeshift message arrow. It was somewhat heavier on the left than the right but they were confident it would be noticed and their message would get through. Nevann, the better shooter of the two, nocked it to his bow and tested it several times. Once he decided he was comfortable with the weight and lopsidedness of the projectile, he took the shot.

The arrow went high into the air, arcing far over the lines of the Wargals and Araluan army and, as intended, clattering loudly against the walls of the Pass, the sound amplified and echoed by the high rock walls. The arrow fell to the ground, making even more noise as it landed. The two Rangers were sure, now, that someone had noticed it.

They waited patiently, knowing their message would be received and granted suitably. It took a quarter hour, but then they heard the telltale rumbling of the ground and shortly hoofbeats became audible as they echoed off the twisting passage of the Pass.

It took a few minutes, but the cavalry came around the bend, charging directly down a newly-opening gap in the infantry. They flooded through the ranks, colliding with the Wargals, who scrambled to run from the horses - their only fear.

"Ever so useful, that little trick," Nevann noted as he watched the chaos ensue.

"Which one?" Parr replied idly.

"Rangers Fifty."

"Do you think it's why they just happened to pair Rangers twenty-three and twenty-seven?"

"It certainly is a good way to make sure it's us."

The cavalry was carving its way through the now-retreating crowd of Wargals, not knowing where the Rangers were, but sure they would make themselves known shortly. Before the horses had even reached them, Parr and Nevann raised their bows together and began to spray arrows down at the nearest Wargals, clearing a path toward the relative safety of the cavalry, who were now wheeling around to meet them.

They jumped down from their position, rolling to break their fall, and then their knives were flashing in the sunlight and Wargals began to fall dead next to them. They worked their way through the panicking mass until the path to the cavalry was clear. They sprinted the last few meters and each gratefully took the hand of one of the horsemen that had paused to get them out.

The horses wheeled back round and began to retreat from the area, trampling the Wargals who were in their way. The Araluan forces were pushing forward now in the panic that had begun as the cavalry moved in, and had gained significant ground, almost bursting onto the plateau itself. The cavalrymen did their best to get past the infantry, but their attempts were futile. The men were packed far too closely in the tight space of the Pass for any cavalry to get back to the end; at least until the battle was over.

"Here will have to do," Parr called to the horseman he was riding with, signalling him to halt his attempts.

"How are we going to get the information to the Commandant?" Nevann asked him after they met back up.

"We'll have to relay it through a messenger pigeon, perhaps," he replied. "It's the fastest way, even if it's not the most detailed. We need to get as much as we can to them in as quick a time as possible in case something happens to us in this fight."

"I suppose we're trapped here until it ends?"

Parr didn't answer that question.

The advantage the Araluan forces had gained from the cavalry charge was short-lived. The Wargal army turned around and quickly recovered, their panic turning into a terrifying rage which began to chew through the Araluan soldiers and knights.

Parr and Nevann hurriedly wrote out a brief, to-the-point report on their findings, including troop numbers, locations, geography of the Mountains, Morgarath's throne room and a brief report of their encounter with the traitorous baron. The messenger pigeon was released and began to fly over the Pass, avoiding the winding stone walls and taking a direct path back to the Plains of Uthal.

The two Rangers turned their attention back to the battle, relatively assured that their intelligence would reach the Commandant and the King safely. The Wargals were gaining ground alarmingly fast; they had the advantage of numbers and the huge plateau on which they had plenty of reinforcements. The Araluans were forced to advance up the claustrophobic Three Step Pass, and could not lose ground easily as the required the entire force moving back. This meant they began to trip and fall as they back into their comrades, making them easy prey for the vicious, pitiless Wargals.

The Rangers did their best to shoot the beasts, but soon their quivers were empty since they had lost most of their arrows in the faceoff with Morgarath and in the short-lived rain of arrows they had used on the Wargals at the edge of the Pass. They were left with little choice but to attempt to hold their ground with their strikers and knives, which would be no easy task with the Wargals in a bloodthirsty rage and hundreds of soldiers pressed around them.

Parr and Nevann stood back to back, knives flashing, their movements a blur as they performed intricate slashes, cuts and jabs, killing Wargals left and right. The press of soldiers began to lessen, but they quickly realized this was because the men around them were falling as the Wargal numbers overpowered them, unable to retreat to the safety of a shield wall or cover to recover their energy or recuperate from their wounds.

The two Rangers were soon isolated in a sea of blood and bodies, a dozen Wargals standing around them, trying to find a gap in their defense. They poked experimentally, only to get their weapons - and in some cases, hands - torn away from them as the men performed expert maneuvers. They had been trained for this kind of thing and they were not going to let Morgarath's army of brutes past them while they were still alive.

It was inevitable, they knew, that they would die in this battle. There was no way to survive as the Araluan line was forced back by the deaths and now they were ten meters away from the Rangers… twelve… fourteen… sixteen…

They fought valiantly, weapons and clothing stained with blood, eyes fierce with determination, moving in perfect sync and working as the ideal team. Parr knocked a Wargal clean to the ground with a blow from his striker then followed up with a quick slash to the throat; Nevann performed a full turn, sweeping his saxe out around him to ward away the Wargals as Parr leaned down to perform the killing blow. They worked this way for a long time, all the while the inevitability of their defeat becoming more and more tangible as Wargals began to seemingly queue up for their chance to attack the pair.

It seemed there was no single blow that felled Nevann; his face and arms were already cut and bloody when three Wargals rushed at him while Parr was trying to block attacks from more on his side. He threw his Striker back over his head in a lightning-fast movement, impacting a Wargal and knocking it unconscious, but Nevann was still left to fight the other two and already more were flooding into replace the fallen one. A club came in from his left; he ducked, a spear from his right; he sheared it apart with his saxe, two swords, one from the center and another from somewhere else; he was forced to use the double knife defense to block the first and the second sailed past his defense…

Parr felt the presence of his friend disappear as he fell, a grievous wound in his chest, his knives still gripped in his hands as he collapsed to the ground. He redoubled his efforts in a fit of rage, cutting down three Wargals and then turning to engage the others; a spear cut him as he tried to defend from every side, but it was too late now as a sword arced in from the left, a club from the right, two rocks from behind and a javelin from another direction.

Later, the men who had been tending to the Rangers' horses - stationed at the Plain of Uthal, waiting their masters' return - would swear they had bucked and whinnied wildly as they were waiting; a messenger pigeon having already arrived to deliver the valuable intelligence. First it was Nevann's horse, followed by Parr's not a minute later.


End file.
